Sojourner's Hope
by Caramina von Strade
Summary: A rip from Star Wars, this story answers the question which popped into my brain late one night five years ago--What if Luke and Leia had a little sister?
1. Welcome Home

Prolog

To: Mig, Head of Atlantan-Nabooese Network Intelligence (ANNI)

Cc: Robinson Jaoquam, Interplanetary Archives, Chairman; T'Laren, Prendi Library, Keymistress; 

From: Ella Sainte-George, The Emissary

Subject: Events following Operation: Sojourner's Hope

Dear Sir and Madams:

It is my understanding that the events related to the successful Covert Operation: Sojourner's Hope have remained undisclosed to anyone spare those involved. To save the reputation of ANNI, this is partially due to my influence. I feel a certain compulsion, comprised partially of guilt, and partially a need to fulfill a promise, to make this story known. What you have received here is to remain under lock, key and surveillance for the next one hundred standard years, per wishes of the subjects.

This, ladies and gentleman, is the story of Guenevere Simon. The following is a short biography of her life for your reference. Some of this information is not contained in any database. Guenevere was the rape-child of Emperor Palpatine and Amidala of Naboo, and the first child of both. Her life has been an interesting one of intrigue, lies, and pain. She, and her mother, are natives of Atlantis, and the Force talents the Atlantans boast managed to keep both hidden from Palpatine after Guenevere's birth. As a babe, Guenevere was frozen in suspended animation, and did not begin the aging process until she was, chronologically, nine years old. It was thought that by that time, Palpatine might think her to be her mother's new husband's child. He was not, however, so easily fooled, and quickly realized she was his daughter. Guenevere's body was three by this time, and Amidala had had twins by her husband. Palpatine, despite the fact that this husband was now his apprentice Vader, had Amidala killed for her deception. Guenevere was forced to watch but escaped, due to the marvelous timing of two old friends. 

She received training in both the Jedi and Atlantan arts, but knew that Palpatine still searched for her. She decided, once again, to enter suspended animation for the second time. During the next seventeen years, her mind somehow maintained conscious thought, and she used ancient Atlantan techniques to create illusions of herself to interact with people. She was unfrozen for a short time to receive more 'hands-on' training, but then in a spate of anger induced insanity, Guenevere made a reckless attempt to kill her father. He obligingly injured her terribly, and might have killed her, if not for the interference of Palpatine's apprentice, Darth Vader. Vader's unprecedented actions go unexplained to many to this day. He did not kill her as he was ordered to, but froze her for the third time, and then ejected the suspended animation pod into space to prevent Palpatine from discovering his betrayal. 

Three days after the freezing, under Guenevere's mental influence, Vader did not kill his son, her half brother. He then committed the ultimate betrayal against his master, killing him. Vader in turn shortly died of the injuries he sustained in the assassination, never telling his son the reasons of his actions. The boy left with no knowledge of his half sister, but did know of his twin sister. Neither twin knew of the existence of, nor of their relationship to, a woman named Guenevere Simon, of the Lightner Clan. 

Guenevere, ashamed she did not kill Palpatine but had effectively killed Vader, healed herself enough to live in suspended animation. She then projected her image through time in an attempt to reverse her mother's death, and keep Vader from being consumed by evil. 

This attempt is said to be what caused Vader's turn of heart. 

Her training was not wasted; she had previously discovered unknown things about the inner workings of the Universe, much to my irritation. She then, foolishly, used these insights in her attempt to alter time.

This attempt, of course, proved to be a mistake. In the midst of her ill-advised escapade, she did not realize was that the Universe has its Emissaries, and causes things to happen to the benefit of itself and all those residing in it. I was forced to keep her from completing the mission she had set out to do. Amidala died. The Universe remained the same.

__

But the I taught Guenevere that she could alter things drastically without such great personal cost. I had, and continue to harbor, the intention of helping her to do it, when the time is right. After years of adjustment and timing, with great effort, Guenevere contacted her mother's people. And they came.

But I am babbling. This is to be her story _after_ these events. She asked me in particular to make this annal of history because I am the unknown observer (the Grand Fly On The Wall), the one who initiates all other Emissaries into my craft, and she who inspires Revolutions. Not just political ones, mind, but the ones in thought and the ones in society. It was my promise to help Guenevere tell her story, and I keep my promises, so this is what I give you: a construction of observations, foreseeings, and accounts of the characters appearing.

Enjoy!

Ella Sainte-George, The Emissary

****

Chapter 1

Welcome Home

"Ma'am," said the radio tech, turning and removing his headphones, "we have it."

Rabé's heart gave a lurch. _Found it_. After 7 months of searching, although Rabé was only present for the last three weeks, they had _found_ it. _Oh, my niece, to see you again. We thought you dead but you came to us…_

The radio tech looked at her quizzically. "Ma'am?"

Rabé snapped out of her reverie. "Inform the Admiral of your discovery, crewman. She's the one running this operation."

The tech nodded. "Yes ma'am." He replaced his headphones and began speaking into the attached microphone.

Rabé buried herself in thought while she waited for Admiral Michaels. Guenevere had telepathically contacted her closest friends and relatives, and had informed them of her location and her wish to come home. She had also informed them of her declining medical condition, and that she was borrowing the energy of those she knew best in order to survive to the time of rescue. Rabé had chosen not to ask precisely how she was able to do this. The telepathic message she had received in her sleep had been terrifying enough, and she wasn't sure that Guenevere had sufficient energy to spare to answer her questions. A rueful smile nearly touched her lips in memory to the response of the message. At first she had thought it was a dream, but she shortly received a visit from Ilo and Paul, who had apparently had their own terrifying dreams. Quickly they had realized it was the same dream and that in all likelihood, their niece being who she was, it was probably a message of true importance. Further contact with friends of her own and Guenevere's confirmed the 'all friends and relatives'. Among those contacted was Admiral Michaels.

__

Speak of the Devil. Here she is now. Admiral Frédériqué 'Rikki' Michaels had come out of the turbolift onto the bridge, hastily buttoning the jacket of her undress blues. She was the youngest admiral ever appointed, although she was not very high in the admirals' pecking order. Rikki still enjoyed flying with her elite starfighter squadrons, and refused to take more than three cruisers—what the military called big-ships— for her use. The higher ups in authority had agreed to fewer ships only because Rikki seemed to find trouble faster than a first year cadet, and they had decided that paying for three ships' damage was far better than paying for twelve. Rabé sighed. The undress blues were an act, she knew, because of the odd looks the crew gave the Admiral when she walked past them in the passageways. Rikki probably wore the blue, green, yellow, or red flightsuits her pilots wore, under ordinary circumstances. Rabé hoped that Rikki might grow out of her pilot "phase" someday but no signs had appeared yet. Ah, well. No use meddling, the girl played political games better than half of those on the Council itself. Such a waste of potential . . . Rabé shook herself. Rikki trained the best pilots in the Vulcan Alliance Military, and so long as Rikki didn't manage to get herself killed there was still plenty of time for her to get into the political arena when she grew up. _If_ she grew up_._ But right now Rikki was debriefing the tech. Rabé leaned in to listen.

"It's directly off the port bow, ma'am," the tech was saying. "Long range sensors show that she's probably still alive…"

" _I_ could have told you she was still alive," growled the Admiral. "Inform HQ that Stage 1 of Operation: Sojourner's Hope has been completed, and that Stage 2 is currently being carried out. Then put a tractor beam on that block and pull it into Bay 4. Get all medical personnel and the suspended animation people down there, and warn them they better be ready for anything." She looked aggressively at the tech. "_One_ mishap, Iverson, and _everybody_ loses shore leave. Capiche?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Rikki turned to her second, sending curling blonde hair swinging around her waist. "You have the bridge, Ms. Shaw. _Please_ make things run smoothly."

Shaw smiled slightly at the faint plea in Rikki's eyes. "Yes ma'am." 

Rikki gestured at the door of the turbolift. "After you, Aunt."

"Deck 4," Rikki told the turbolift. 

Standing in the descending turbolift, Rikki regarded her aunt carefully. They were not related by blood at all, but Rikki's mother Yané had been handmaiden to the late Queen Amidala with Rabé. Rabé's once mahogany- brown hair was now completely gray, though she had given its original color to her only daughter, Cresska. _Only daughters. It's like they obeyed Amidala even in the children they had._ Somehow, most of the handmaidens had managed to have a single daughter, and had spread them out along the Atlantan and Nabooese hierarchy. Cousin Cress was the current Queen Iloana's handmaiden. In fact, most of the original handmaidens had managed to keep politically influential positions. 

Rikki took the opportunity to get an elastic from her pocket and put her hair up. _Dammit, why couldn't Auntie Ilo trust me to do this _without_ supervision?_ The _only_ reason she was wearing this over-starched blue front was because Aunt Rabé would tell Auntie Ilo if she wore what she usually did—the baggy flightsuit her pilots used. Even being called 'ma'am' was unusual; everyone except for newbie's called her Addie—short for Admiral. _Either_ factcould prompt Auntie Ilo to do something drastic—like bring her back to HQ. _Damn _it for having her favorite aunt be Queen as well. _Although, that probably gave me some leverage in getting this mission._ By all rights, getting the late Queen Amidala's daughter out of hot water _should_ have gone to someone far senior. Which was most likely why Rikki was stuck with nanny-Aunt Rabé. _Damn, damn, damn._

The turbolift stopped. Rikki gestured at the open passageway before them. 

"Shall we, Aunt?"

Rabé nearly flew down the passageway, her heart in her mouth. She scanned the labels on the doors, looking for Bay 4. _Hangar 2, Maintenance_,_ Storage — Botanicals, on a military ship? — _. . . _Bay 4!_ She turned quickly and entered the interlocking blast doors. Technicians, medics, doctors, and crewmen worked with astonishing efficiency and speed. Rabé looked out the open cargo bay doors, attempting to see the suspended animation pod. 

"There," a voice said behind her, "It's right there, see?"

Rabé did now see, but she was _not_ happy with who told her. 

"Daemeon, how did you get here?"

"Well, lets see, I took the turbolift down the hallway…"

"Passageway. On a ship it's a passageway."

Daemeon smiled, white teeth flashing against his tea-brown skin. "Yes _shrimati _(he used the Hindu title for a married woman). I took the turbolift down the passageway up three levels from Deck 7 and walked down here. It was very simple, really."

"Well that's all very nice, dear, but what I _actually_ wanted to know was how you knew to come here or that now was the time to come."

"Oh. I asked one of the docs who was running through the hall. I thought it was unusual, since he was one of the suspended animation shock specialists, and the only reason _I _could think for him to be running anywhere was if there was a big emergency. But I didn't feel many people in pain, so I had to assume it was the other reason he would be running, which was that we had found _Shrimati_…or is it Madame?… Guenevere."

Rikki was choking with suppressed laughter. "You have to admit, the kid can make logic trains."

"That is_ not_, however, what I employ him for." Daemeon Gandhi's aptitude for politics and the Force had caught the attention of several high-ranking members of the Atlantan Lightner clan. They and Paul, Ilo's husband, had decided that the boy should see the real world for a little while, and Rabé had been more than pleased to offer her services as a mentor. She took Daemeon on as an unofficial apprentice, to teach him everything she knew about politics, negotiation, and diplomacy. With re-contact with the New Republic imminent, it was a good idea to have as many skilled politicians on your side as possible. What she had not realized what that the boy got into more trouble than Rikki, and talked twice as much. But he, like Rikki, had too much potential to throw away because of transitory annoyance to her.

"You may watch this, but don't get in anybody's way, all right?"

He nodded vigorously, sending black hair bobbing along his forehead. "Yes _shrimati_, I promise."

__

And here I was, thinking I was done with 12-year-olds after Rikki grew up. Figures.

But now they were pulling the pod into the bay, and everyone's attention focused on it. Rikki, in a brilliant tactical stroke, grabbed Daemeon by the shoulder and steered him over to the tractor beam console, where both watched the tech, the readouts, and the pod with bated breath. Rabé wasn't breathing at all.

Daemeon watched the suspended animation pod like a cat watched a fish through the window of an underwater Atlantan city. He peripherally observed _Shrimati_ Rabé, nerve-wracked and trying not to show it, and Admiral Michaels, who had no such inhibitions. She was not only visibly sweating, but she seemed intent on biting her bottom lip off. Who _was_ this mystery woman, and why, by the stars above, was she so important? She obviously had enemies, why else would her suspended animation pod be jettisoned into open space? (He was also intently aware that he was one of the few people on this ship with the bare knowledge of this woman's first name.) Rabé had said something about a mental message being sent by this Guenevere, but he guessed that Guenevere had no idea at all when they were coming. Unless the Admiral…no. Admiral Michaels had no skill at sending mental messages. So Guenevere most likely had no idea who they were, though she had probably picked up the presence of this many life forms. Might he sent her a message? He could try at any rate.

He reached out with a mental tendril. –Shrimati…_Madame…Miss…Guenevere? Are you there? -_

-Who…what are you? -

The voice that seemed to resonate through him was light but powerful, like his grandmother's._ -My name is Daemeon. I am with the Atlantan/Nabooese party sent to find you. -_

He felt a shiver of surprise along the tendril. Her flute-like mental voice returned._ -Really. Well, it certainly took you long enough. Who's in charge of the mission? -_

-Admiral Michaels. -

Laughter trilled through the tendril to him, making him tingle.

__

-Rikki's been a busy girl has she? -

Daemeon wanted to inquire just what she meant by that, but the pod was being pulled through the containment field. _-You're in the cargo bay now, there's techs and doctors here…so is the Admiral and _Shrimati_ Rabé. -_

-Rabé's here? Why didn't you say for before? -

-Wait, you know Shrimati_ Rabé? -_

-Of course, she's my aunt. -

-Your aunt? -

She didn't reply. –_Guenevere? -_

-I need—strength—to survive the re-animation process. Will you help? - In smaller voice she added, _-Please? -_

He considered. _-Absolutely. What do I need to do? -_

-Nothing, just leave it to me. -

Daemeon didn't know just what she did, but he felt a sudden physical tiredness, like after a long workout in the gym with his practice staff. He stumbled. 

"Kid?" The Admiral inquired. "Daemeon? You all right?"

"She's…pulling strength out of me."

The Admiral's mouth opened, as if to say something and then she closed it. A tech signaled her. She turned to Daemeon and smiled tightly.

"Come on, kiddo, lets watch them crack this clam shell."


	2. Pandora's Box

****

Chapter 2

Pandora's Box

Guenevere was surprised by the contact of the boy Daemeon. She had not felt a presence that strong since, oh, her last contact with the Emissary. But that was impossible, the Emissary's unshielded presence would most likely kill a mind-healer or Force user, and shielded she seemed to extrude power. So then why did this _Daemeon_ seem to have the same strength of presence? To Guenevere at least…She stopped herself. _He's a boy, you know that. He's 40 years younger than you are. Maybe more. Too bad…_ The brief mental contact and the strength she drew from him told her more than he might guess—his age, Force talent, and physical health. _Stay away from him, girl-o. Don't mess him up too._

Rabé approached the space where the pod lay with automaton-like stiffness. Slowly she crossed her arms and grabbed her elbows to hide her shaking hands. _Guenevere, Guenevere,_ her mind seemed to chant, as if she might elicit some response. Her intention or not, no response came.

Rikki stood with a somewhat pale Daemeon at her side. Rikki looked even worse than he did, but that may have been due to her much-lighter skin. 

"All right, people," she was saying, "This is it. No mess-ups, no mistakes, first one to crack buys drinks. We good?" Affirmatives chorused from all sections. Rikki smiled tightly. "Let's get this over with." 

Cheers rang through the bay.

One of the suspended animation techs leaned over to the control panel on the side of the pod and pushed a button. Rabé held her breath.

Guenevere felt a sudden pain like something was trying to ram its way out of her chest. _What the bleedin'…_Oh, yeah. Her heartbeat. After all, it had been twenty-five years since she had felt _that _bodily function. Stars, it had been twenty-five years since she had felt _any_ bodily functions. _Wait a minute, how could I have had conscious thought if I had no heartbeat…_She decided not to touch that one. _Too confusing. And you have other things to worry about, girl-o. Like how breathing is gonna feel with the scars you got._ The injuries her father has 'blessed' her with were anything but pleasant. They most likely looked worse than they had felt—and would feel again—which meant they looked like a nightmare. _Oh, stars _above,_ don't let Rabé be out there when they crack this thing._

The tech who had pushed the button looked up at Rikki. She nodded, feeling a tremor of fear float up from the butterflies in her stomach. The tech opened the pod. _All we can do now is hope, and hope, and hope…_

Cold, fresh air washed over Guenevere as she took her first painful, oh so painful breath of sweet air in twenty-five years. And she opened her eyes…

Not too late to see Rabé flinch away, hand over mouth, tears standing in her eyes. _No, no, please no!_ Guenevere's chest was covered with blood and the charred rags that had once been a shirt. Her flaming red hair was still plastered to her forehead with so much sweat its color had dulled. And there, stuck to her neck with blood and sweat was the carved japoor snippet necklace that had once been Amidala's. _Wait…movement—there—_her eyes—green, greener than new leaves—opened slowly. And then closed. A Bothan doctor ran to her, lifted an eyelid and shined a light into it. He swore. "Nurse, get me that nips NOW!" he bellowed, and people scrambled to obey. 

The doctor pressed the NPS (non-puncturing syringe) to Guenevere's jugular vein with near bruising force. He pushed brutally on her chest, circulating the serum. He felt for a pulse, pulling stuck hair from her neck. His golden- russet furred hand lingered for a few tense moments. "I have a pulse!" he announced, "She's got stasis shock but she's alive! Nurse, gimme that damn medscanner." He ran the device in the air over her body. "She's got multiple contusions, lacerations and electrical burns on her chest an abdomen, a severe concussion, and her left wrist is broken in three places. Unshabaiya, get that gurney. Let's move her to medical."

The doctors moved her to the gurney in a swift, cooperative process, and then pushed it from the bay. Rikki—and Daemeon after a nod from Rabé—left with them. Rabé stayed long after they had left, taking deep breaths, watching the techs clean up.

Rikki touched the com-link on her collar. "Iverson?"

"Addie?" his voice came back.

"Inform HQ that Stage 2 has been completed."

"Successfully?"

"Err…Complicated. Broadcast only that subject is currently receiving medical treatment."

"Aye-aye, Addie," he responded, and she cut the comm.

Daemeon had never seen anything quite like that before. _Lets face it, _yaar_, you've never seen injuries like that before even in pictures, you've never seen anybody die before, and you've never seen anyone be resurrected._ Great stars, what had Rabé's purpose been in letting him stay? Surely she would have known…He remembered her flinch, the tears in her eyes. _No, she wasn't expecting that. Not by a long shot._ Rikki looked up from the short conversation she'd had using her com-link, and caught Daemeon's eye. 

"You've never seen anything like that before, have you?"

"No. Have you?"

"No."

They walked in silence behind the bustling and noisy doctors for a few moments. Daemeon managed to work up the courage to ask a question, and it came in a rush.

"Do you know what caused those injuries?"

"Not…precisely," Rikki said slowly. " I do know she battled her father. Most of that is likely his work."

"Who was her father?"

She shook her head. "Not my place to say. But what I will tell you is that he was a user of the Dark Side." The Dark Side was a part of the Force, traditionally connected to evil, anger, and impatience. And violence.

"Would he have hurt her with it?"

"I have no doubt he did," she replied quietly.

The gurney and the doctors turned into the medical bay. Rikki followed. Daemeon did not.

Slowly he followed the hallway—passageway—to the turbolift, down the 3 levels to his guest quarters, entered his rooms, walked quietly to the lavatory, and threw up.

Medical was more than ready to receive its newest patient. The ship's chief medical officer herself was in charge of the shipboard treatment. Florence Graham had set up for every possible emergency. Rikki didn't know how she did it. But she most certainly wasn't going to ask now. The doctors were conferring. 

"The best we can do for her now is to get her stabilized and dump her into bacta," the golden-russet furred Bothan doctor was saying.

"I don't want her in that miracle juice," snapped Flo. "We have no idea about the extent of her injuries, it'll heal her up so fast we won't know about any harmful scarring."

"Dr. Graham," the Bothan doc said, "She'll die if we don't. I am certain she will. And there's other things too…" he pulled her out of hearing.

A nurse spotted Rikki, and quickly came to her. "Addie, there's nothing you can do now, we will keep you updated on all progress…"

"Not just the progress," she growled. "You tell me everything that happens in here every hour on the hour, got it?"

The nurse nodded vigorously. "Aye, Addie. We will."

Only somewhat satisfied, Rikki left.

She soon found herself on her bridge again, attempting to find a distraction. There wasn't one. _Drat. Damn…_ "Iverson, inform HQ that Stage 3 has begun." She paced the short space behind her command chair. _Dammit, I need something to do!_ There were those reports…Boring and tedious, yes, but definitely distracting. Fine. They needed to be done anyway. "Robbie," she said to Shaw, "I'll be in my ready room." 

"Good," she replied cordially. "You can stop terrifying the bridge crew."

Rikki scowled at her, blue eyes burning.

"See," Robbie persisted, "That glower of yours could scare a Wookie."

Rikki was at the end of her rope. Her finger stabbed at a door off to the side. "Ready room," she barked to Robbie. "Now."

Robbie, having seen this routine before, hopped out of her chair and trotted into the ready room. The doors slid shut behind them. Rikki sat at her desk and loosened her collar as Robbie settled into a chair. Robbie brushed a strand of her dark hair out of her eyes and crossed her arms.

"Spill," she demanded.

"Oh, stars, Robbie, I don't know what to do."

"About what?"

Rikki had taken to staring at the abstract sculpture resting on her desk. "About any of this. Rabé is flipping out, she won't show it but she is, and that kid she's got with her has just been introduced to violent death for the first time in his life…"

"Death? I thought she was under medical care."

"She died. The docs had to restart her heart. Stars, Robbie, she was _electrocuted_. He got her with those damn Dark Side lightning's, I know he did."

Rikki's cat, Contrary, took advantage of the new laps and leapt into Robbie's. She was promptly dumped out. "Does Flo think she can help her?"

"Flo is trying to keep her out of bacta. I have no idea what she wants to do instead."

"Yeah, well, that's Flo for you, always searching for alternative treatments. But occasionally she's got to give. Just how bad were our subject's injuries?"

"Her chest looked like it was beaten with sharp hammers and then electrified. The doc said, other than that, she had a concussion, and that her wrist was broken." Contrary now attempted to sit in Rikki's lap. Rikki, apparently oblivious to the cat hairs her uniform was going to acquire, permitted her to do so. 

"That doesn't sound too bad."

"It's not the injuries that were bad, it was the electrification coupled with the suspended animation shock. The shock without injury can kill on its lonesome, but with injuries that severe…"

Robbie winced. "She needs that bacta, Flo's arguments or not."

Absently Rikki began to pet Contrary. "Exactly. But I don't know enough."

"Then maybe we should go find out."

Rikki looked up. "Now _that_ may just be the best idea I've heard all day. But they need to discover just how far her injuries extend."

"Medscanners work fast. Give the docs another half hour, and then see what they plan to do."

"You want to _what?_" Rikki exploded. "Go to _Coruscant? Are you mad?"_

Rikki and Flo stood in Flo's office off of sickbay, 30 minutes later. Neither's temper was in good condition.

"Coruscant is the only place I know of with bacta treatment facilities good enough," Flo said grudgingly. "There is a special trauma center that specializes in burn treatment and scar removal in the Imperial Palace complex…"

"Oh, no. I don't _think_ so. I am _not_ going to create a galactic political incident over this. If it is _not_ bad enough that we haven't had contact with the Republic in nearly a century, we _cannot_ bring _her_ to their capital for more reasons than I can tell you. Dammit, Flo, we can't bring her to the _Imperial Palace_. If they got even a _hint_ of who she was…"

"That's precisely my point, Admiral, all I know about this girl is that she was injured so badly that she needs the best bacta treatment in the galaxy, and that someone saw to it that she was jettisoned into space. I _also_ know she is incredibly Force strong from her midi-clorian levels, _and_ I know that her neural pathways are developed to a point far more advanced than any twelve-year-old I've ever seen. Admiral_, I …need…to…know…who…she…is."_

"That would be a security breach…"

Flo let out a sharp sigh of exasperation. "All right, let me put it this way. The first thing I'm supposed to do when she wakes up is call her by her name. Or ask her her name. So _listen,_ Addie. I can ask her, or you can tell me. And I'd rather you told me."

Rikki vaguely remembered some nurse confiding in her that Flo had a mean streak when she was angry. Crud. She was right, of course. Guenevere _would_ tell Flo. The stars only knew just how much. _Damn, damn, damn. Why me?_ Time for a split second decision. 

"Have you checked her for tattoos?

"Yes…"

"Did you check under black light?

"No…"

That's right, Flo was Atlantan, but had lived on Naboo for most of her life, and probably didn't know about all Atlantan traditions. "Check the inside of her left wrist."

Flo rose and entered the sickbay. Through the window Rikki watched as she entered the double doors of the intensive care ward, and through both windows watched as she used a small multi-spectrum flashlight to check Guenevere's wrist. And saw Flo's mouth fall open and dark skin become a slightly lighter brown. Flo walked back to the office, looking stunned.

"She's Lightner," her voice came faintly. "Tri-colored Celtic knot. With gold outline…"

Apparently not as ignorant as originally thought. "Do you know what the outline means?"

"Gold is reserved for the direct descendants of the Enlightener…"

"The woman on that bed is Guenevere Simon. She is of the maternal line direct. Katharine Eiffel is one of her greater-grandmothers."

"Katharine Eiffel, the Enlightener. She who discovered the sea angels…" She blinked. "The last one born of the maternal line direct was Amidala of the Naboo. We all knew that…she…and…Emperor…"

"Guenevere is the rape-child of Amidala and Emperor Palpatine. She—Guenevere—was injured by Palpatine, in an attempt to kill him. She was originally put in suspended animation for her own and her mother's protection. It was thought that by the time Palpatine came looking for them, he would only find Amidala and a child far too young to be his. It…things went wrong. I don't know all the details; you'll have to ask Rabé. She was there."

Flo sat silent for a long time, digesting her new insight. "I…cannot rescind my advice. She will die without the treatment they can offer."

Rikki felt pained. "Can't you do anything with nanotech?"

Flo shook her head. "She doesn't have the reserves, Addie," she said softly. "Bacta will heal her without drawing strength from her body."

"Flo…I…Do you have any idea what they would do, if they found out who her father was?"

Flo suddenly became very sensible. "Question her and find out what happened, I expect. Then turn her over to Skywalker. So long as she wasn't trying to kill Palpatine to take over his Empire…"

"She was trying to dissolve it."

"Then I expect they'd discover her training as a Lightner and as a Jedi…"

Rikki shook herself. "Wait, where did you draw that conclusion?"

Flo smiled slightly. "The lightsaber she had buried in her clothes."

"And the Lightner part?"

"The tattoo. And no Lightner in their right mind would let a tidbit _that_ juicy slip to the Jedi without _some_ Lightner training first."

"I still don't think this is a good idea. Are you sure?"

"I am _positive_ she will die without that treatment."

Rikki bit her lip. Hard. "All right. I'll run it past Iloana. Maybe she can use this too her advantage in reintroducing us to the Republic."

Flo nodded. "I hope so."

"What are you going to do for her now?"

"Preliminary treatments have already been started, and she's been put into the intensive care ward."

Nothing she didn't know already. "Good." Rikki turned to leave. "Wait. Where is her lightsaber now?"

"Locked in the ward safe."

"Give it to me."

Flo hesitated. "Oh, it's just for safekeeping, I'm gonna give it back to her," Rikki snapped. Flo nodded and retrieved it.

Lightsaber safely in her possession, Rikki slipped it beneath her jacket. Again she turned to leave.

"Oh, Addie?" Flo called.

"Yes?"

"Can that kid of Madame Rabé's come around here? His Force talents may be able to help her." There was _no_ way Flo was going to say that the boy had called to ask if he could help. _She_ had brothers. He'd only be embarrassed.

Rikki was still for a moment. "Yes. He may. But don't tell him anything."

"Oh, and Flo," she added, as the door swished open. "You're sworn to secrecy for everything in this conversation. Except for her first name. Everything else comes on a need-to-know basis, unless if she," Rikki gestured to Guenevere, "chooses to tell anyone." She turned out the door.

"Yes…" she was gone, the door closed, leaving Flo in the dimmed lights of the night shift sickbay, "…Addie."

She went to work, researching the model of the suspended animation pod.

Rabé found herself in sickbay some five hours later. In the dimmed lights she made out Dr. Graham's office, and the doctor herself, head on desk, sleeping._ As I should be._ She glanced at the clock on the wall. _One in the morning. Yeow._

She looked around the sickbay for a few minutes, and discovered her niece in the intensive care ward. She stepped through the doors. 

Guenevere lay with bloodstained bandages covering her chest. Her wrist had apparently been mended already; such things were not difficult with proper treatment. Neither was healing cuts and burns, come to think of it. Why was she still bleeding? Hemophilia was not the issue; she knew that. Could Guenevere have been injured so badly? The thought made Rabé cringe.

For a long time she stood there, watching Guenevere breathe. Chest rise, chest fall, rise, fall, rise, fall, so shallow. _What did we do to you, child? What right did we have to use you like this?_ No right at all was what they had. Though she would most likely be pleased that she had the chance to return to Coruscant. See her siblings again, and some old friends. Stars knew just how many she had made. And to chew out the New Republic's air-headed politicians, most of whom had never heard the proverb 'To irritate the Nabooese negotiator is to sign one's own death writ.' Though Guenevere doubtless considered herself Atlantan rather than Nabooese.

Rabé sighed and sat in the chair next to Guenevere's biobed. _Ah, sweet, whatever are we going to do with you? Stars above, I wish I knew. You will make more trouble than your heart-sisters and aunts ever made combined._ Rabé knew from her slightly disjointed thoughts that she needed sleep, and soon. She leaned over the biobed and kissed Guenevere on the forehead. The flesh bruised with the soft impact. Something deep in Rabé's soul wailed. As silently as she had come, she fled the sickbay, trailed by Graham's soft breathing.


	3. Only Birds

****

Chapter 3

Only Birds

Luke woke with a start. His dream—and a terrifying dream it was—had brought him back to his experiences on the second Death Star. The look of exhausted exhilaration on the Emperor's face…Vader's sacrifice…He shook himself. _Definitely_ time to find a distraction. Mara stirred beside him, perhaps empathetically disturbed by his mental anguish. Yes, he needed to find something else to think about, lest he wake her entirely. Wrapping a blanket around his sweat-chilled shoulders he took a deep breath and slipped into a Jedi meditation. He reached out.

An eyeblink later he found Mara, now sleeping somewhat more peacefully. With reserved tenderness he gave her a mental caress, and moved on. In the corridor outside his quarters in the Imperial Palace a senatorial messenger ran about his duties, bearing a midnight message. Farther out Luke found a Mon Calamari couple walking, both elated by the other's company. He wished them luck.

He found Leia, still awake even at this late hour, working. He gave her a brief mental brush, which she returned. _Go to bed, sister-mine._ She gave a mental affirmative, promising to do so as soon as she had finished. Acknowledging this was the best he would get, he bade her farewell and move on again. 

Anakin was the one he found next, apparently suffering from his own nightmare. He sought his anesthesia from the same source Luke had, currently engaged in his own meditation. Anakin was on visit from Luke's Academy, seeing his mother, Leia. Luke gently offered an invitation to join him, which was graciously accepted. Both now continued on.

Ships were arriving at the shuttle pad of the Palace and Anakin drew them there. Through mental eyes both observed the comings and goings of ships from around the galaxy. People of all types and homelands drifted, each with different goals, fears, strengths and weaknesses. It was easy to lose oneself in this symphony of differences. But one note stuck out.

Anakin noticed it too, and both soon turned their attention to it. A ship was coming into land, a strange ship, unlike anything Luke or Anakin had ever seen before. But it wasn't just the ship. Several presences seemed to jump out at them, like red flowers in a field of green. _Force users._ And no weak ones these. But one seemed to glow like an ember. And it was _fading. _Dying? Perhaps. _So_ _familiar. I've met this one before. I don't know where or how but I have. Who is this?_ Anakin received the same feeling of overwhelming familiarity. The ship finally landed, and was proceeding with its landing procedures. Both Luke and Anakin were now lit with curiosity. _Shall we meet this new arrival, nephew?_ Luke inquired.

Ten minutes, coupled with some hasty dressing, excuses to wives, mothers, and irate (for being woken up) older siblings, (the former for Luke, and both of the latter for Anakin) as well as a bit of running through the halls, they finally made it to the shuttle pad. Landing procedures done with, the strange shuttle had extended its ramp and was beginning to unload passengers. Luke and Anakin observed the discharge from the shadows. A half dozen people began to walk down the ramp. Guards, he realized. Unobtrusive, wearing civilian garb, no exposed weapons. But their minds were hyper-alert. And wary. 

An unusually tall blonde young woman was one of the first down who was not in status as a guard, and was identifiably one of those detected. She wore stark blue dress that's loose cut flattered her slim figure. She was shortly followed by a gray-haired older woman, who walked with the calm dignity of one who had seen so much in her life almost nothing could surprise her. She had somehow managed to achieve both comfort and elegance in simple set of loose pants and a loose long sleeved smock-top. A preteen boy followed them. But it was not they who startled. It was what followed down the ramp.

Two people, one a dark skinned woman, the other a golden-russet furred Bothan, rolled a glassed over sterility-preserving biobed down. A shorter, rounder blonde woman—another guard, he shortly realized—walked with them. Inside the biobed, wearing only a sheet and a strip of cloth, was a girl.

She couldn't have been more than twelve. Small girl-breasts were covered with the piece of cloth, from the hips down was covered with the sheet. An oxygen mask covered her nose and mouth, and red hair was escaping from the loose braid it had been put in. Her chest was literally covered with brilliant blue scars, red scabs still forming lines down the centers of them. Luke felt a little sick. They reminded him of the lightning Palpatine had shot at him. She looked…emaciated. Ill. Barely alive, in fact. He was so startled by the appalling image presented to him that it took him a minute to realize—she was the one who had first enticed his attention so much.

Luke stepped out of the shadows and approached the biobed. The dark skinned woman glanced at him, then at the two women. The elder nodded. The biobed slowed, but did not stop. Anakin followed Luke out, none to swiftly. Now Luke came to walk beside the biobed. The girl lay with eyes closed, limbs flaccid, either unconscious or too hurting to move. Her face, now that he could see it, was thin, like the rest of her, with a short, strong nose, even brows, pointed chin and well-constructed cheekbones. In her starved condition she was nearly elfin. Anakin let out a soft surprised exclamation. 

"She looks like Mom!"

Luke realized he was quite right. The semblance was unusual, though not exact. The biobed had now stopped.

"Who…who is she?" Luke asked the dark skinned woman.

This elicited another glance to the ladies ahead of them. The tall blonde woman broke in.

"She is a patient for the Ornsa Trauma Treatment Center."

Luke realized very suddenly that he was being nosy. But he had to know about this girl.

The blonde had been hushed by the elder. Now she answered.

"She is my niece, Guenevere. As Rikki said, she is here for treatment."

The hushed blonde—Rikki—did not look happy.

"What happened to her?

The older woman's eye's darkened, no more. "We are unsure. Hopefully she," she gestured to the biobed, "will tell us."

Luke wanted to ask more, but the dark skinned woman interrupted.

"Madame Rabé, we need to get her to the Center. Now."

"Quite, Dr. Graham. Master Skywalker, young Solo, I believe my niece…" she broke off.

Guenevere's eyes fluttered open. She squinted against the glare of artificial light, and the glanced from the doctor to Luke to Anakin. Her hand shook with the effort as she reached up and laid her palm against the glass. Luke touched his hand to the same place her's met the glass. She smiled gently, and her hand dropped by her side again, eyes closing. Luke withdrew his own hand. He drew a sharp breath in.

Madame Rabé finished her sentence "…would be delighted to meet you both when she has the opportunity."

Rabé entered the blast doors, drawing her party away from Skywalker and his nephew. As soon as the doors closed, Rikki started. 

"What the _stars_ were you _thinking?_ We are _supposed_ to keep a low profile."

Rabé cut her off with a sharp gesture. "How long do you think we could have kept the guise up? He would have known eventually. He now knows exactly as much as we told him, and also knows he may ask about her again, and that we are free with information. He will therefore not be extreme in his research about her. We can control how fast this gets out."

"Oh? And what are you going to do next, tell him who her whole life story?"

Rabé glowered. "What she wants to tell, she may tell, and that is what I will tell all of them—"

"All of them? Just who do you think is going to be making inquiries?"

"The entire Skywalker clan as well as any and all Jedi who get near enough to detect her. Now, finishing my sentence, I intend to give them basic information as they ask for it, no more, and if they touch on sensitive material I will tell them to ask her when she recovers or to come back to me if she dies. That _should,_" she said suggestively, "be enough for your conscience."

Rikki took the hint and shut her mouth. She glanced at Daemeon, who shrugged apologetically. Then she sighed. It was going to be a long trip.

Neither Anakin nor Luke was quite sure how to explain this to their relatives.

"Mom, she looked _just_ like you!" Anakin was saying.

"She may well have, but there are thousands of billions of people in the galaxy, Anakin, she could be anybody and look like me," Leia stated impatiently.

Luke had by now decided to take the dangerous position of mediator. "Leia, the resemblance was uncanny. Imagine you, about twelve years old, really thin, with red hair and green eyes."

"You cannot tell me you believe this."

Luke held up his hands. Forcefully he continued, "I can only say what I saw, Leia. _She looked like you._ Without a doubt. And she was _familiar._ _Eerily_ familiar. Like…family, like what I get from the twins." Meaning Anakin's elder siblings.

Anakin nodded. "She was familiar like Aunt Mara."

Leia pressed her lips together. "Luke, you still don't know who she is, where she's from…"

"Her name," Luke cut in gently, "Is Guenevere. She's a patient at the Ornsa Trauma Treatment Center. There are seven guards with her, and two doctors, one of whom, a dark skinned human woman, is called Dr. Graham."

"Unusual name," remarked Leia.

"Not too difficult to research. There was a gold-red furred Bothan doc as well. Two women, one older, one younger, were there as well. The elder was called Madame Rabé, who claimed to be the girl's aunt, and the younger was Rikki. A boy was with them. Since we know where they are and the ship they came in on, it should not be hard to trace them."

"I don't _want_ to trace them. I want you to give this up entirely."

"Mom…" Anakin broke in, "you need to meet her. Even just in meditation, for only a few minutes. You _have to meet her._"

Leia massaged the bridge of her nose with both hands. "Anakin, I love you dearly, but I simply don't see the purpose…"

"Mom, have you been listening to _anything_ we've been saying!?" Anakin burst out. "She looked like you, exactly like you, so like you it was _scary._ So, _Mom_, could you consider, just for a moment, the possibility that my grandparents may have had other children? Not necessarily together? We don't even _know_ who my grandmother was, _could it be she had other children and grandchildren?_

Luke, and from the look on her face, Leia, were surprised not only by Anakin's vehemence but at the possibility of this unknown and unconsidered theory.

"The—older—woman," Leia stammered.

"It could be true, for all we know. Or it may have only been cover," Luke said breathlessly. "She may be an adoptive aunt…Like my Aunt Beru."

"It could also be like our relationship with Chewie," Anakin said, meaning his and the twins'.

"Leia," Luke said slowly, "You remember our mother. Barely, but you remember her. I think we may need to test Anakin's theory. You and me, because I knew our father."

She nodded soundlessly. "It…may be a good idea if we wait for a while till the treatment has had time to take effect…"

Luke nodded. "Good idea." He glanced at the wall clock. "You need sleep. And I need to explain this venture to Mara." A task he did _not_ relish.


End file.
